Pity Party

One of the advantages – if you can call it that – to moving as much as I have is that I am seldom one of the people who get ‘left behind’. Distracted by the novelty and busyness of relocation, I am somewhat sheltered from the pain of missing my friends. My daily routine is new. My surroundings are unfamiliar. I am not sharply aware that the people I love are absent because they have never been a physical part of this present.


There are friends that come from history - for better or worse, kept because they are old and irreplaceable. Like antique furniture, they might look out of place in a modern living room, but they provide a feeling of continuity and make for good conversation.

There are friends that come from circumstance - coworkers, neighbors, or club members, essential but often superficial. Like a favorite new pair of shoes, they are comfortable and stylish, but eventually they will wear out and need replacing.

Then there are friends that come from intense mutual admiration. Like a warmly lit mirror that magically softens wrinkles, blemishes and character defects, they reflect a self portrait of confident radiance.

Richard has been this sort of friend to me, and today he is moving to London. I can almost hear the sucking sound of the emotional vacuum created by his departure. I feel like a better person when I am in his company, and his absence will be sorely felt. My own self indulgence is preventing me from celebrating his opportunity and wishing him well. Indeed, I have been quite nasty about it.

Of course, as I write this, I am immediately consumed by my own hypocrisy and flooded with feelings of regret and longing for all of those friends who I have left behind, and especially for the one I have lost altogether...



What I mean to say is:

I miss you.